Beachwalking – A poem for Kreative Kue


This poem was written in response to the Kreative Kue challenge by Keith Channing on his blog, Keith Kreates, see his post here:



I walk along the beach at dawn

Wandering freely without much care

Of where I place each foot, forlorn

And heavy, wondering why I linger there.


I glance to see a foggy tendril

A whispering ghost of gossamer wing

I hear a voice, I stand and tremble,

It is my name the Angels Sing.


There, by the sea, a corpse is lying,

I rush to help, too late, and yet

I give a breath, then stop trying

My eyes fall upon a piece of Jet.


The blackest stone of mourning loss

I see its glimmer and watch it shine.

This gem reveals much with its gloss.

The Gem and body, both are mine.


Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 25/March/2019


I have also included the following prompts:

FOWC with Fandango — Corpse


Tell the Story 3 – The Young Beachcombers.

Teresa, The Haunted Wordsmith has tagged me in another Tell the Story challenge. I enjoy these challenges and this is my third today! See the post here:


This is the rather eclectic picture:

Suzie and her brother lived in a hut by the sea.

If the evening was clear, they would walk along the beach gathering driftwood and pebbles and anything that had been washed up that caught their fancy.

It was a lonely part of the country and their Grandfather who cared for them didn’t worry much, they were good children and never wandered far.

Well, Suzie was good, but Peter could be quite naughty at times. He used to like picking up the small crabs that scuttled along the beach and tossing them as far as he could into the sea.

Suzie would tell him off.

“Don’t do that to the poor crabs! How would you like it if some giant crab came along, picked you up and threw you into the sea?”

“OH, give over Suzie, that’s not going to happen!” Peter would shout back.

At certain times of the year, the beach would be covered with tiny lumps of jelly. They were immature young jellyfish.

Peter enjoyed picking up lots of the small jellyfish in his bucket. He would then grab handfuls and throw them into the sea.

Suzie would again chastise her brother.

“Peter! How would you like it if a giant Jellyfish came along and picked you up and threw you into the sea?”

Peter again would laugh back “Oh, Suzie, as if that would ever happen!”

Then one moonlit night, when they had wandered further away from their Grandfathers hut than usual, something surprising appeared hovering above the sea, far off on the horizon.

Suzie and Peter stood hand in hand and watched as a giant Jellyfish floated up.

Suzie looked at Peter and said, “See, I told you!”

The Jellyfish spoke to Peter in a hauntingly eerie voice.

“Are you the young man who has been throwing my grandchildren into the sea?”

Peter stood aghast and swallowed and nodded, for he was an honest boy who didn’t lie, even to Giant Jellyfish.

“Well, I wish to thank you, my friend. Thanks to you, many more of my grandchildren have survived to grow into adulthood. My species was dying out, but now thanks to your kindness we are thriving again.”

A large wave suddenly came in from the sea, bringing with it a small casket that washed up on the beach at Peter’s feet.

The Jellyfish spoke again, “Here are some gold coins from an old shipwreck at the bottom of the sea. This is a token of my gratitude to you. Goodbye, my friend.”

As the Giant Jellyfish drifted away, Peter couldn’t help giving his sister a smug look.

The End

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 24/January/2019


Who will I tag?

Earning Trust — Friday Fictioneers

Please do not feel obliged to take part if it’s not something you are interested in taking part in. However, if you like to have a go, here is a picture for you:



Have Fun. 🙂



The Value of Local Knowledge – A very short tale.

Paula of Light Motifs 2 blog has posted this post and picture:


Here is a very short story that I wrote, inspired by this picture.


Kayden had been surfing at that beach since he was a boy and knew those waters inside out. He knew it was time to head in.

He gazed at the tourists still surfing and splashing in the sea, shook his head and laughed.

They didn’t know that it was nearly time. That soon the sharks will be coming in to feed.


Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 23/January/2019

A Study at the Beach – A short story.

It was a typical geological field trip. The scenery of that part of the country was very fine. The rocks in the cliffs changed from layers of sedimentary rocks, a few limestones sandwiched between sheets of shale, to the occasional igneous intrusion, a Dolerite dyke or Sill. Where the Igneous rock, once molten magma, had penetrated the existing sedimentary rocks, it had burned and altered them turning the Limestone into a poor quality marble and the shale into sheets of Slate, used locally for roofing material.

This geologically diverse stretch of beach was very popular in the summer months, but in March, the wind was blowing an icy gale from the east and the students huddled in corners eating their lunch.

The Professor pulled out one of his favourite sandwiches that his wife had made him. Cheese and Pickle. As he sat on a lump of limestone, he thought about his chosen career. Would he have wanted to do something else?

He was contented with his lot. He didn’t see himself as a boring professor though. He saw himself as a Rock Star.


Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 23/January/2019

This story was Inspired by Teresa, The Haunted Wordsmith’s Three Thing Challenge:

Today’s prompts: rock star, beach, pickle



Tell the Story – A Hidden Opportunity.

tell the story beach palm tree

Dr Tanya tagged me yesterday in this Tell the Story Challenge:

Written for Tell the Story, a writing prompt initiated by The Eclectic Contrarian.

Rory, of A Guy Called Bloke tagged Sadje.

Dr Tanya of Salted Caramel was tagged by Sadje of Keep It Alive, you can read her story here.

And Dr Tanya tagged me with this sunny picture above. So here we go.


It’s a popular spot nowadays. People come here for their summer holidays. The sun, sea, sand and palm trees are just what they seem to want now. They fly in on big aeroplanes or sometimes come on huge cruise ships. Much bigger than the ships that I used to sail on, back in my day.

I suppose it is a beautiful spot. The sand connects two islands and is underwater at high tide. Of course, back in my day, it was a very lonely spot of beach. The only ships that came here were Pirate ships taking shelter from the storms. It wasn’t a common spot even then. Far from the main haunts. Now it’s positively packed with people. Whole families and their kids come here to paddle in the sea. They don’t see me of course. No one can.

I’m just a relic from the past. My bones are buried here and I’ve been here for centuries, just staring out to sea. It was a tradition of Pirate captains, to bury someone with their treasure so their ghost will protect it from anyone who comes looking for it. There was also the added factor that once that blaggard, Captain Blackbeard had me dig the hole, by shooting me in the head, no one else would know where he buried it. An onerous job, digging that hole, with nothing but a bullet for my reward.

I had my revenge though. Blackbeard didn’t outlive me long, and no one knows that just buried six feet beneath their feet lies my rotted corpse and an old wooden chest filled with Spanish gold doubloons. What a hidden opportunity just waiting to be found.

One day.


So now it’s my turn to pass the challenge on.

Here is the picture:


I choose:

The Dark Netizen

Laura of Lauravent69

Laugh for the Day-Sassy!


Thought for Change.


If you don’t fancy taking part, then that’s fine, but if you’re up for the challenge, Have Fun,

and Thank you, Dr Tanya, for thinking of me.


FOWC with Fandango — Onerous


50 Word Thursday #29 – Blurred Instincts

Debbie Whittam sets this challenge every Thursday, to write a poem or story in 50 words, or multiples of 50 up to a maximum of 250 words, inspired by a picture and include some particular lines.

This is the story I wrote last week:


Familiarity drugs thought, and begins to blur instinct. –
Arthur Upfield’s Bony and the Mouse

Blurred Instincts

What a contrast he was to her ex-boyfriend. He smiled at her as they drank cocktails on the beach. He actually seemed interested in what she had to say, though he gave very little information about himself.

He was youngish and reasonably handsome. When he initially started chatting to her at the Bar she wasn’t interested, something about his smile and those cold eyes she didn’t like. Finally, she’d agreed to have one drink with him. She’d been flattered, there were much prettier girls at the bar. His easy-going manner and the way he listened attentively to what she said had slowly chipped away at her initial reluctance, familiarity drugs thought and begins to blur instinct.

After that, they took their drinks down to the sea and sat on the beach. She sipped her drink and enjoyed the feeling of numbness that rose up from her toes. The sound of the waves lapping against the soft sand was soothing. The smell of the salty sea mingled with the scent of his aftershave.

She woke up suddenly. The sun streamed through the window. A blurred figure stood over her as her eyes adjusted to the light.

It was a female figure dressed in a police uniform.

“Ah, you’re awake. We were worried he’d given you an overdose. You’re lucky our patrol found you when we did before he could carry out his plan. He ran off though and we didn’t manage to catch him. Could you provide us with a description?”

Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 29/November/2018

I have included the following word prompts:

Picture of the Day – Me and a Tree on the Island of Mersea

As you may already know, I love trees.

This is a picture of a particularly lovely tree that is growing on the edge of the beach on the Isle of Mersea in Essex, England.

This was taken in early May and it was a particularly glorious sunny and hot day. The tide was pretty much all the way out, so swimming wasn’t an option, it was more or less just mud. Also the sea would probably have been too cold anyway, it doesn’t tend to warm up until end of July.

Mersea Island is a really lovely place and is separated from the mainland by a salt water creek. The road, known as the Strood, allows you to drive over to the island without any trouble, except around high tide when it is underwater for about an hour (this happens twice in every 24 hours).

The Island has one town, West Mersea, which has a nice beach and lots of beach huts and fish and chip shops. The east side of the island is mainly just farms and caravan parks. It is quieter on the East side. The whole island takes about 30 minutes to drive around, but sometimes it can take longer than that just to find an empty car parking space!

I hope you liked this picture.


Sea Foam in Skye – A short story of pain and sorrow.

Michael Atherton stood on a lonely stretch of beach looking out to sea. 

It was a cold March day on the Isle of Skye and so not many people were prepared to brave the chilly winds, despite the clear skies.

The beach was a relatively unknown beauty spot. The sand was composed of creamy white pieces of shell and coral. It was like a beach you could find on a Caribbean island, although without the tourists enjoying the sun and drinking rum cocktails. In this lonely part of the world, it was only what you could call busy on an August Bank Holiday weekend, and only then if it didn’t decide to rain. 

He had chosen this spot because of its remoteness. He had come here on his honeymoon with Sandra. They had been so happy then. They had stayed in Portree, the capital of the island. They had explored the island, mainly on foot, during the day and each other at night. 

Now seven years later he was back; the spot looked exactly the same, but his life was now totally different. Sandra was now living with Sean and they were in the middle of an acrimonious divorce which included a custody battle for their two boys, just six and three years old. How had it all come to this, when it had started out so well? 

As he contemplated his life he watched the sea rolling up onto the beach, bringing with it some froth, like the top of a cappuccino. He stood there staring for some time wondering whether, now he was faced with it, he would have the courage after all. 

He’d left the note in his flat in Edinburgh, not far from the home he’d been thrown out of. The lovely Victorian terrace in Morningside, near the hospital where both Sandra and he worked. Or had until he’d lost his job. 

The plan had seemed so good last night. It would guarantee something for his sons when they were old enough. He’d left them a video recording and a letter explaining everything. 

There wasn’t anything left to do now. 

His clothes were piled neatly folded under a gorse bush.

He thought how life and happiness was so much like that froth the sea brought in. Here one minute, then gone the next.

Then he heard the sound of a car pulling up by the road. The car doors slamming as people got out and the sound of the bushes as people pushed through them.

Then someone calling his name. Unbelievably it was Sandra.

“Michael, Michael! Thank God you’re still here. I was so frightened we’d be too late. I knew you’d come here, as soon as I read the note. I had gone to see you to tell you I don’t want to fight anymore, that I’ll agree joint custody. The Landlady said I’d just missed you.”

Michael collapsed into tears. Laying naked on the beach, he cried at the thought of what he had planned to do. He cried at the thought that he had been stopped and the pain of life will continue. 

“I’ve brought help with me Michael, you will need help to get better again. I promise I won’t make this any more difficult than it needs to be in future. It will be easier from now on.”

A large man in a police uniform came forward and covered him in a foil blanket.

A lady with a soft voice spoke to him. “Mr Atherton, my names Lucy, I’m from the Samaritans, we’ll look after you. Come with us.”

As Michael was led away he looked out to sea once more. Strange how one location could be the site of so much happiness and also so much sorrow, he thought to himself.

The tide was ever flowing onto the shore and just like life, it goes on.


The End

Copyright Kristian Fogarty 11/April/2018


via Daily Prompt: Froth